Branded
by karebear
Summary: It's a good thing Han is a terrible kisser. It makes Qi'ra's life so much easier.


Han is a terrible kisser. She hadn't thought so before, on Corellia. But they were both kids then, without anything to compare their fumbling attempts against. Han is still a kid. He swears he isn't, but she can see it. He's cocky and idealistic and he still believes in love and luck and second chances. He's a good guy, and she really, really isn't.

When Beckett interrupts them in Calrissian's closet, it's almost a relief.

She pushes her way past the smuggler and through the ship's small lounge area where the Wookiee still growls at the flickering holograms on the dejarik table. Anyone can see that he's already lost.

The crew quarters are mercifully empty. She lays on her bunk, biting her lower lip as though that could undo the memory of Han's lips gently tasting hers. He really is a terrible kisser. Far too shy, far too hesitant, constantly pulling back as if he's afraid to take what he wants. Unless he does not, in fact, really want her. That would make this easier.

Qi'ra rubs her wrist in an idle circle, tracing over the Crimson Dawn symbol, slightly raised on her pale skin. It's been a nervous habit since shortly after the symbol appeared there. Whenever Vos catches her doing it, he stops her, catching her hand in his and bringing her wrist up to his mouth, tracing his lips, and then his tongue, over that bisected circle. It makes her shiver every time, and it is almost always a prelude to much more than kissing.

There are only two kinds of people who brand other sentient beings: slavers and gangsters. Crimson Dawn - Dryden Vos - is both. Qi'ra doesn't bother trying to hide the mark. There seems little point, and most people assume she put it there voluntarily. She doesn't see any reason to discourage that assumption, especially when it ascribes her much more power than she actually has. Besides, by now, they might not be entirely wrong. It's not like she could take it back even if she wanted to. It's not like she wants to.

Qi'ra hasn't been a kid since the day the security cordon slammed down between her and Han at the Imperial Checkpoint back home. She understood exactly what was happening when Dryden Vos showed up at Lady Proxima's lair. Money changed hands, along with promises of an alliance between Proxima's small time operation and the Crimson Dawn. Vos bought Qi'ra her life, but not her freedom. It was a way off world, so what did she care?

She expected brutality from her new master, or if not from him, then at least from his underlings. That's how Proxima had always maintained discipline, after all. Qi'ra had been smart - smarter than Han anyway - she kept her mouth shut and stayed out of the way and always met quota. But even she had earned her share of beatings. But Vos never raised his hand to her. She has no illusions that this makes him a good man - the mark on her flesh tells her everything she needs to know on that count, in case she ever forgets. She's watched him kill so many rivals and stupid hirelings who don't keep their promises that she's lost count. She's killed for him, and one day, if she makes the wrong mistake, he'll certainly kill her.

But Qi'ra always makes quota, and Vos likes her, so she thinks that today is not that day.

Unless she lets her brain get muddled by daydreams of Han.

She hears the alarm that signals their imminent drop out of hyperspace. Another relief. She has no desire to go to Kessel, but at least it will be a distraction. And nobody cares what she wants.

Maybe they'll all die in this black hole cluster anyway. Wouldn't that be something?

She can feel the gravity wells pulling at them; they thread the needle but it is like being in the middle of a vicious windstorm, a hurricane. And Kessel is anything but welcoming. "Put these on," she snaps, holding out the binders for Han and the Wookiee. They both protest, the Wookiee violently, she crouches low as the hairy fist slams into the bulkhead just behind her. She rolls her eyes. "If you want the coaxium, this is the plan. Unless you've got a better one."

"I don't like it either, Chewie," Han mutters. "But she's right."

The Wookiee howls again, but he lets Han snaps the binders shut, and Qi'ra gets to her feet without incident.

"If we're ready," Beckett drawls, all dripping sarcasm. Qi'ra glares at him. She hates smugglers like him. They always think the entire universe revolves around them. She has no idea why Vos hadn't relieved him of that notion. She knows Beckett has a price on his head, and Crimson Dawn can always use more credits.

"Come on," she mutters. "Let's go."

Kessel is just as miserable as she'd expected. The slaves are beaten down and underfed, a sure sign that nobody cares if they die. The Empire can always bring in more. Most of them don't even look at her, and the ones that do can't recognize that she is no different than them. She rubs her wrist, her thumb moving in a slow circle. Han eyes her quizzically.

"Keep walking," she yells, a bit louder than she intended. He's still staring at her. She lifts her gun out of its holster, waves it at him. The Wookiee growls. "Move!" Qi'ra demands.

Han rolls his eyes, still grinning. "Alright, alright. Keep your shirt on."

Qi'ra thinks she can hear Beckett laughing softly behind her. She grinds her teeth. Two of Kessel's overseers stride smoothly toward them. Qi'ra nods in greeting. She sees Han tense up. He isn't used to lying. But she is, and she isn't scared at all.

She launches into their cover story, an offer of trade, spice for slaves. A sample of the merchandise. The overseers appear to think it over, but Qi'ra knows they've already made the decision. It's a good deal, they'd be stupid not to take it. Finally, they nod. Behind her, Beckett, in his bounty hunter's mask, breathes a little easier.

The overseers move to take Han's chains away from her, and she lets them, but before they can lead him away she punches Han, as hard as she can. He doubles over and that gives her the cover she needs to let a pair of dice on a gold chain catch in his waiting fingers. His eyes widen, his fingers briefly brush over her wrist. She shudders, but she smiles.

 _Good luck_ , she thinks, as her heart twists inside her. And, _I don't belong to you. I never have._


End file.
